The Well and the Lighthouse
by Grey Fallout
Summary: He won't believe me when I say that it has to be him who pieces me back together. That I don't want a stranger with wise words—I need him. I know that it has to be him... Because no one's ever breathed life into me like that before. ChaseXGale -angstfest-
1. Prologue

**AN;** _First off, thank you for taking the time to even read this. Like, really. Thank you. Reviews, including constructive criticism, are greatly appreciated ^^ Really, point out any issues you see if you don't mind. I'm trying to improve. Anyway, this is a Gale (Wizard) X Chase fic, so if that isn't your cup of tea please leave rather than flame me. The idea came to me as I was listening to "The Well and the Lighthouse" by Arcade Fire, and the prologue is written to it. Yes, I am horrible with titles. And no, I don't plan on writing any further chapters to lyrics. Just the prologue. But, anyway, I hope you enjoy it. Again - thanks for reading._

**Warnings: Yaoi, Angst, Violence, Adult Language, Alcohol Consumption**_  
_(Warnings apply to the fic as a whole, and not just a certain chapter or section.)

**Prologue**

Chase's POV

* * *

_I am serving time  
All for a crime I did commit_

* * *

I let myself hope. I suppose that was my first mistake.

You see, hope is like Russian Roulette. You load the chamber with your hopes, your wishes, everything you've ever allowed yourself to dream for. You cram it all down into one hole and snap that cylinder shut. Then you spin the chamber and surrender any knowledge, any control you ever managed to cling on to. You grip that gun tight and shove the muzzle into your mouth, teeth scraping against the cold metal. Then there comes the moment of hesitation. Should you really be doing this? Is it even worth it in the first place? And if you change your mind, well, too bad. 'Cause that chamber's been spun and you have no control over what happens next. Backing down and returning to how you were before isn't an option. The chips are down, baby, and there's no taking them back. This is your moment. You close your eyes and your finger tightens on that trigger, your entire body tense and anticipating.

And hope will be the bullet that kills you.

Or not. Maybe you're lucky, and all that comes to you is the snap of a _click_, followed by a silence that slams into you like a brick wall. Then relief. Oh, God, overwhelming relief. You won, your hope having won out and flooding back into your being as you cry over how beautiful this is. How your soul hung in the line and you won. **You won.**

But what if hope didn't hold out for you? Say it was misplaced, or misguided, or just plain stupid and blind. You put your whole being into it only for it to slam back into you tenfold, blowing shattered chunks of what used to be your faith across the wall, across the floor, tearing holes in your soul like a soldier being torn apart by shrapnel.

I am not a lucky man.

I sit here in this freezing-ass jail cell and I'm Tired. Tired in every aspect of the word, Tired to the point that every breath I take feels like like a deadweight pressing down on my heart. So Tired that I feel if I lay down for even a moment, I'll never get up again. I let myself hope after I screamed at my heart to never hope again. And this is where it got me.

* * *

_You want to know the truth?  
You know I'd do it all again_

* * *

The cold air blowing in through a crack in the window stings at the cuts on my hands, the ones I obtained while shattering and ripping everything of Gale's I could find. I look over them now, recognizing and cataloging each bloody gash, recollecting how each one was earned. The myriad of criss-crossing cuts on my left knuckles from punching in his window. The deep gash on the inside of my right hand from smashing a vase into the wall. The bruising on my left hand from trying to rip out a banister from his staircase. Yeah, stupid idea, I know. But it seemed plausible at the time. And innumerable others, all red and glaring, playing out over the contours of my hands like cracks in a mirror. Jin bandaged them for me soon after I got here, but I tore them off within a few minutes after he left. In a sense, I'm thankful for the pain. The cold bite of it keeps me awake, reminds me of why I'm here and how I fucked up and made all this possible. Because, really, for all my anger and lashing out, this is my fault. My fault for being naive. My fault for wishing for something I don't deserve.

No, I don't enjoy the pain. The freezing sting that licks at my wounds isn't something I consciously invited, nor is it something I necessarily like. But I need it. And I thank whatever Divine entity that may or may not be listening for it. I need them to darken and scar, to forever remind me of this oblivion that I brought upon myself. To scrape bitter reality across my face every time I look at them. I need the ugly, I need the unpleasantness. Because if I allow myself to forget, this will all just happen again.

Honestly, I had thought that I had reached this point already. Assumed that with all the pain I've felt, all the nights spent laying awake with tears staining my face, I had come to know it. It makes me want to vomit—my entire life, how jaded I'd thought I was. I understand pain now. And I realize how, then, everything I did was all to avoid it, despite what I told myself, despite what I thought my motives were. Now I've lifted the veil, and I was sickened by what I saw.

* * *

_Left for dead,  
Heaven is only in my head_

* * *

I understand, now, that nothing good has ever, will ever come without pain. That there is no light without proportionate shadow. There is no happiness without an equal or greater grief looming above or beneath it. Oh, I thought I knew. I really thought that I knew. I told myself every day of my life that if I wanted to be happy, if I ever decided to try and better my life, I would have to deal with grief and pain, perhaps more than was worth it. I preached this to myself, to people who didn't really want to hear it, but I never really believed it in my heart until now. I was naive when I believed myself to be jaded. And now I'm paying the price.

Because there is no heaven here.

Whether or not a heaven-like plane exists somewhere in our universe or in the afterlife, I don't know, and I won't until my heart stops beating. But there is no heaven here.

* * *

_I heard a voice  
Calling from down inside the well  
"See that silver shine?"  
She said to come claim what was mine_

* * *

I never deserved Gale. Never deserved his warmth, never deserved his touch. I'm a beaten dog, snarling and willing to lash out at whatever happens to move too fast for my liking. Malefactor or benefactor matters not—my broken is deeper than that. My broken seeps through the cracks and poisons the ones I allow myself to love. "Chase is just a little snappy," they say. "Don't take it personally. He's just... you know, like that. You get used to it." Yeah. They do get used to it, I suppose. My irritability and seething criticism are bearable when they're just skirting the edges of your life, embodied in a man you only ever see so often.

It's when I try for something deeper, something that actually means something, that people get hurt.

Gale thought he could help me. And I guess that's not his fault. He wanted to save me, be my knight in shining armor. For a while, it looked like it would work. Gale has been broken. And he knew the way to call me to him was to call to me from that bad place, that dark place I retreat to when I've nothing left but my fears and insecurities. He was willing to tear open some old wounds to help relate to mine. And when it turned out that my broken is deeper than he thought, that maybe he can't fix me like he thought he could... well. You know. I won't judge someone for giving up when I've long given up on myself. I won't judge him, but that doesn't seem to stop me from giving in to my rage.

He said that this was a task for someone better at healing than him. That he would find someone who could piece me back together. He won't believe me when I say that it has to be him. That I don't want wise words. That I don't need a stranger with more experience—I love _him_. I need _him_. I know that it has to be him.

Because no one's ever breathed life into me like that before.

* * *

_So down I fell, down into the water black  
My prison cell, only the moon was shining back

* * *

_

**AN;** _So, there you have the prologue. Yeah, I'm an angst bunny. Sorry. ^^  
Not sure if it's a prologue, technically, being it takes place seven months after the beginning of the story, but, you know. It works. All reviews are greatly appreciated 3  
_

**DISCLAIMER: Chase and Gale belong to Marvelous Entertainment, Inc.**_  
_**Lyrics - "The Well and the Lighthouse" by Arcade Fire**_  
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	2. Chapter I

_**AN; **__NN! Yes, yes, obscenely late update, I know. Heh, sorry... Lots of __IRL angst and the like, you know. Yes, this will be completed, and the updates will be decent from not on. Promise ^^ Anyway, so, the fic is finally moving; there's actually some plot movement in this chapter, and I hope I handled it well. I do much better with standalone angst than actual, you know, plot. That can't be healthy. Thanks to everybody for the R&Rs! ^^_

**Chapter I**

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A cracking lens held together by temporary force of will, a scar briefly forgotten in evanescent pleasure. Such is the life and quintessence of Castanet's only bar—lonely souls, broken spirits congregated together to block out their pain and responsibilities for one night of forgetful bliss. World-weary bodies go through the motions like slaves in a longboat, sweaty forms moving through air clouded thick with smoke and regrets. Fears and insecurities take a transient backseat to greed and lust, gluttony and pride, as the pain of life fades into bittersweet oblivion to give pleasure and satisfaction their appointed turn.

Every night spent dealing counterfeit happiness from behind that counter I would watch as men and women pulled apart their superficial shells, tearing off the guise they wear for society and flinging it against the wall to lay there crumpled and discarded until morning when they would drag their weary forms back to it tired and beaten. With one shrug of their shoulders patrons seem to let fall to the hardwood floor the full weight of their burdens. Social standards and expectations are left forgotten under the tables as the true humans come out, jaunting about and preening in their primal ecstasy. Beasts in whiskey-stained shirts and low-rider jeans howl at one another in lust and in loathing. The fists are thrown around as easily as the tongues as secrets are spilled out onto the tables and conflicts explode, the barriers that held them back having been stretched thin throughout the night and finally burst.

If I ever leave Castanet and its haunts behind, even if I age poorly and my memory is wiped nearly clean of my life here, I will never forget the smell of the Brass Bar. The warm, acrid scents of uninhibited life, blood and musk dashed heavily with booze and cigarette smoke. The scents that clog the air of any bar, I suppose, but that are infinitely more intimate in a town like Harmonica. Each stumbling, cursing man struggling to walk a straight line, each sultry barfly eying patrons from across her beer as she lets the sleeves of her blouse fall down her shoulders. Each person carries with them a story you are familiar with, tied together with the threads of memories that you are in some way a part of. The pain that they shed freely as their minds begin to fuzz and fade out releases itself into the room, adding an additional tension, an extra sour tang of something into the atmosphere. I stand there behind the counter, running my fingers over the dark wood and feeling the tell-tale scratches of shattering mugs and fiery disputes through the thin layer of gloss. I stand there and the pressure sinks in as the night wears on, by closing time having weaved its way into my hair, my clothes, my skin.

Every night around eleven thirty I would take a break. Casually remark to Hayden or Kathy that I was going out for fifteen minutes to cool off and unwind. Pretending to my last that it was a skin-deep luxury, something that helped slightly ease my tension and nothing less, when in reality those precious minutes were so much more. Something about stepping out of the thick atmosphere of the bar and into the chill night air seemed to washed me clean, smoothed down pressures that were frayed and threatening to snap.

I remember my affiliation with Gale began on one of those escapes, back in April when the sea was beginning to relent in it's onslaught of bitter-cold winds and warm currents first started flowing back into Harmonica. The night wasn't special, the town aloof and silent as usual save for the booming voices and loud music leaking from the bar, the harbor filtered over with a fine layer of salty mist. The nagging winds that had sprung back to nip at the townspeople one last time before finally fading into spring had died down, leaving the air dull and lukewarm, though it bit at my face as I made the transition from inside.

I closed the door behind me and turned to lean back against the wood, shutting my eyes and just breathing for a few brief moments before righting myself. I reached into my pocket out of habit to pull out a single cigarette and a worn black lighter and leaned my back against the wall of the building, holding the cigarette in my mouth and making a futile attempt to rub the tension out of my neck. I flicked the lighter and lit it, then slid it back into my pocket and reached up to hold the stick between the ring and middle finger of my left hand, dragging the smoke deep into my lungs.

I remember a time when I used to feel a quick flash of regret with the first drag of each cigarette, a brief _what the hell are you doing_ before the buzz took effect and my nerves smoothed out like waves on the ocean rounding down after a storm. A sickening disappointment in me as a person that I had resorted to narcotics to help me handle myself. I remember when discovering I had pulled out and lit one without consciously being aware I would occasionally be hit with a sharp pang of disgust that would begin with a curdling in my stomach and end with my choking back vomit. Nausea has always been the first effect any kind of stress or worry has on me, but nothing makes my stomach decide to just up and rebel like the crushing self-disgust I get when I fail to handle even myself, let alone the people around me. It's my only conscience in those dark hours when my mind provides none. A slap to my own face that leaves me smelling of bile and reminded of just how pathetic I am.

But my body and mind had given up on this particular vice by this point, and all I felt as the smoke began to cloud my lungs and throat was the warmth and the impeding buzz of nicotine. The smoke coming from the lit end curled up into the night, twisting into faded grey shapes and blurring the features of the night sky, and of the figure leaning onto the rail across the street. I diverted my eyes to him without moving my head and recognized him as "the wizard." I had never seen him before, personally—from what I could gather he rarely interacted with any of the other townsfolk, and when he did it was only ever punctual—but I recognized him from the descriptions given to me by other people who have had dealings with him in the past. His frame was lanky but appeared deceivingly solid and powerful in the way he shifted his weight as he stared out at the harbor. He held himself easy and lax, shoulders sloped leisurely and arms crossed over the railing. But there was something superficial in how he did so, as if there was a tension hiding just beneath the surface of his skin, straining at the fiber of his muscles.

At the time, I had no idea whether or not the rumors of him being a legit wizard were true, but I do remember being caught by the way the mist directly outlining him seemed lighter at one moment, and then darker the next time your eyes wandered over him. The change was so subtle I rolled my eyes at the observation until later, when I knew more.

"'Ey. You alright?" I crossed my right arm over my chest, propping my left elbow on my hand and tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. A full ten seconds must have passes without a response, so I repeated myself. "'Ey! You alright?" The wizard shifted his stance a bit but otherwise didn't move. A warm flush rose to my cheeks and I chuffed indignantly, taking another drag. If he wanted to ignore me, fine. No skin off my back.

A stray cat leapt from atop a trashcan beside the bar, causing it to tip over and hit the ground with an ear-splitting metallic clamor that sent me jumping a full two feet to the side. I'm typically pretty good at foreseeing things but, admittedly, I can be obnoxiously jumpy when something catches me by surprise. My face twisting into an irate grimace I snarled a few choice words at the scurrying creature before leaning my shaking form back against the wall. My eyes drifted back up the wizard, who was now looking back at me. Something about his eyes made my body tense. They have this odd—God, I don't know how to explain it—sort of piercing quality that makes you feel he's looking straight through you. If you've ever seen him you'll know exactly what I'm talking about.

The silver of the hair framing his face seemed to glow almost white against the light from the lighthouse, the color almost blending in with the mist surrounding him. I straightened myself, the color rising to my cheeks again. God, how I hate it when people catch me jumping at things like that. I'll admit I'm not the most mature of men, and moreso than most anyone I hate my weaknesses being seen. It puts me on edge, this deep-seating desire to appear as if there's nothing wrong being pricked and wounded, leaving me indignant and sulky. I feel bad for anyone around me when I get in one of those moods. It's got to be miserable.

Then I realized I had let my cigarette burn down almost to the filter, and grit my teeth. It was one of my last few, and I wouldn't have money for another pack until tomorrow. Irate with myself I let it fall to the cobblestone road and crushed it beneath the hell of my shoe, idly putting out all the glowing embers as my mind wandered. I kept trying not to look up and appear as if I didn't give a rat's ass if the wizard was still there or not. Another fun fact about me - if I like you, you probably don't know it. Any sort of friendly attraction has always unsettled me. It's like I mentally refuse to acknowledge that it's a good thing and instead attempt to drive them away before something worse happens. Old habits die hard, I suppose.

When I finally did look up his eyes were still on me, sending a fresh wave of blood rushing to my face. I curled my lip inappreciably out of habit and pretended to look to the side out of lack of interest. A shift of movement, and the wizard had turned his form from the railing and stood with his left side to me, the silver braid framing the side of his face, grey streak laid against olive skin. "You might want to get inside," he commented. The words took me by surprise, and without realizing it I had cocked my head to the side and, though I don't remember, probably proceeded to look at him as if he had descended from another planet. Regardless, his eyes remained stoic and unreadable. "Wouldn't want you to catch pneumonia."

Furrowing my brow, I looked up. The sky looked fine, and the air was still as lukewarm as it had been when I left the bar. "Uh-huh. And you better stay out of the woods. Wouldn't want you to get mauled by sasquatch." Yeah, tact isn't exactly my strong point. Just in case you haven't noticed. I felt bad for being snappy, but as usual I ignored that part of me and continued glowering at him, or rather in his general direction. I was still thinking of how he had ignored my question earlier, and dammit, I'm tenacious.

Oddly enough, the flicker of a grin played across his lips before he shrugged lightly, so subtle a movement that it hardly seemed to happen. Then he walked off, lean and agile fingers lightly touching the rail for a few feet before the hand was brought up to pull the hood over his head. I proceeded to act like his departure was a blessing and waiting until he was long out of eyesight before heading back inside.

When I left for home at two thirty that morning, it was _freezing_, and the air was so damp is was like wading through a swamp.

If I had been him I would have made a point to avoid me from then on, what with my petulant disposition and total lack of tact and all. But you know, I still don't quite understand him as is.

* * *

_Again, yeah, yeah, I know this is obnoxiously late ^^; and not that great, either. But still, thanks everyone for the R&Rs! Also, I'd appreciate it if anyone messaged me upon finding any grammar/spelling issues. Dunno why, but I'm sure there's some in here _


	3. Chapter II

**AN;**_ Warning: this is kind of bad. Writer's block out the ass, much. This was going to be longer but I didn't want to tackle the next bit until I felt a little more confident. Anyway, I think it gets my point across^^ Hopefully the next chapter will be a littler better quality-wise. I've already got it sketched out so it shouldn't take long._

**Chapter II**

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* * *

_

It truly is amazing, the impact a hot cup of tea can have on your entire day.

I remember waking up the morning after that night outside the bar, eyes red swollen and crusty, every joint and muscle in my body aching and screaming in protest as I lifted myself into a sitting position. My mouth had the metallic, sickly taste oozing in from the back of my throat that warned me what was to come next – with a stomach as perpetually ill as mine, you learn to spot the warning signs early on. Luckily I made it to the bathroom before throwing up the entire contents of my stomach in a retching so violent it made my throat sore.

Dragging myself into the kitchen I opened the fridge, surprised and a little shocked that my body was already weak enough for this simple task to feel like a strain. I felt cold; already I was started to panic. Any sort of weakness in myself has always set me on an edge you wouldn't believe. I took one look at the assorted food inside and gagged, slamming the door shut and dashing to the sink in case I was about to vomit again. Not that there was anything left. A few dry heaves later I attempted to drink some water, which was an even bigger mistake. Up that went within another ten minutes.

So, nothing to do I guess but go back to bed. Great. As if my insomnia isn't bad enough without my muscles screaming at me every time I move.

There wasn't any use calling in to work until later because there's no way I was going to get a hold of anybody until at least noon. So I made a pitiful attempt at falling back asleep. Whatever, an hour later I ended up getting back up and heading into the bathroom to take a look at myself and see if I was in any shape to head to work anyway, just tough it out as usual and pretend I'm fine.

It was worse than I had thought – my face was ashen and pale, almost grotesquely so. The dark circles about my eyes were more prominent and my eyes were ringed with this nasty red that made me look like a drugged up raccoon. In short, I was fucking nasty and I'd be damned if I was going to leave the house until I was somewhat more presentable.

Go ahead and laugh if you want. Some men actually care about what they look like, even if I like to put on a front that I don't.

Well, looks like shower time, right? Turns out that was a _horrible_ idea, and I ended up sprawling out of the steaming water to dry heave some more, getting the tile already slick with steam even more wet, slipping and slamming my left foot into the corner of the cabinet hard enough to leave an angry red gash that bled out onto the floor. When my foot hit that hard wood, it seemed like my entire body just went numb. The familiar comfortable oblivion spread about my sense and I stopped heaving, bandaged myself up and turned off the water. I didn't even bother to get dressed. Just threw on a towel and walked over to my bed, where I lay down and curled into a ball. Then I started to cry.

Yes, I know. You don't have to say it. Anymore, it seems like anytime something happens to tear away my sense of self-dependence, everything in my life comes to a boiling head and spills out over the sides, leaving me a complete wreck of a hollow shell foolish enough to pretend it was a whole. Flaws and problems wrought in stone I pass off as something maintainable, when in reality I keep them under lock and key, dreading the day they'll inevitably creep out and bring me to my knees again. If you need to know, feeling helpless scares me. No, it _terrifies_ me. More than maybe is in my ability to ever explain. Independence is the only illusion I have left to cling to. And when it's torn away, I feel terror.

People lie, and people will hurt you. Especially the ones who say they love you. Depending on anyone other than yourself if suicide. And the only way to truly be on your own is to repel everyone, push them away before they have a chance to kill you with their half-truths and broken promises. I'm a nasty person, and that protects me. I'm childish, I curse, I get violent and I yell. And in the end that's what saves me from having to fall again.

It's just – Nn. When I think that maybe, maybe I can't depend on just myself, maybe I'm not enough, I panic. I cry, I shake, I break things. My thoughts get heated and skewed as I start the downward spiral into the Bad Place. The Bad Place is where everything rots and nothing grows back. The world around you is full of demons and looking in the mirror will make your heart scream. Sometimes I can stop myself before I get there. Sometimes I can't. And once I enter the Bad Place, only blood will bring me back.

I held myself and cried until I eventually fell asleep. I don't know how long I slept, and my dreams, thankfully, went unrecollected.

When I woke up, my body was stiff and unyielding. I grit my teeth and clenched my fists as I moved from the fetal position I had been in, muscles creaking and straining against me as I forced myself to turn over and lay flat on my back. For a while I just looked up at the ceiling, taking deep breaths with eyes watering from the exertion. I hadn't looked at it, but I knew immediately that I had slept on my wet hair wrong and now it was going to be all fucked up until I got it wet again. But whatever. It's not like I had anyone to impress anyway. I eventually willed myself to swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand, reaching behind myself to press on my back in a vain attempt to pop it. After deciding that definitely wasn't going to work I went ahead and wrapped the towel around my waist with a sign before walking into the kitchen to see if I could keep some kind of sustenance down.

My window was open and a surge of dread went through me, an instinct so primal it was nearly animalistic that dilated my pupils and sent my eyes darted all around the room. Try as I may to act sophisticated I'm a primal person at the core, whichever way you want to look at it.

All I found was a cup, sitting right there on my table. I had never seen it before in my life.

It was black, apparently made of some time of dark stone. Ornate carvings of deer pranced delicately about the circumference, a handle obviously carved to resemble a stalk of ivy curling about the base and rim to frame the beautiful scene it enfolded. I didn't even want to touch it; the mental image of my hand curling about the scene seemed to defile it, but I picked it up all the same, fingers gingerly wrapped about the handle and lifting the thing to my face. Upon a closer inspection there was some kind of precious stone, a brilliant violet in color imbedded into the cup in place of the cervine creatures' eyes, so subtle that you would hardly notice it unless you were looking close enough for your face to touch it.

But enough about the damn cup. What matters is what was in it.

A vibrant, faintly minty scent wafted out of it's mouth, my ultra-sensitive nose picking it up almost immediately. I reached inside and pulled out – tea leaves? Really? At least, that's what I initially assumed they were, just leaves. The scent in itself soothed my spasming stomach, and I felt a relaxation in my gut that I hadn't felt since I got ill. Idiot me didn't know what the hell they really were, but I decided to boil them into tea immediately.

The effect that elixir had on me, I can't expect you to understand. And I can't be stupid enough to think that I'd be able to describe it. Nothing other than the waves of the ocean throwing themselves upon a filthy shore, ebbing water flowing back and pulling the decay and debris with it to leave behind sands as pure as if the pollution were never there to begin with. It sounds crazy, but immediately, as soon as that first cup settled in my stomach, I felt better than I had in years.

Even my mental health seemed to take a sharp turn for the better. Nasty creatures with gnashing teeth that had been gnawing at my conscious were turned to stone, present in their physical form but the fear and domination they instilled pulled back with the tide. Demons that I let into my soul as a child seemed small enough to handle. And for the first time since I was a boy I felt like I could breathe, truly breathe, without feeling as if I was stealing the life from some other, darker entity.

The effects wore off eventually, and the tea ran out. Physcially, I was completely cured, but the mental effects were temporary. The tea was like a drug, and I scraped the bottom of the cup for any remains or crumbs I could find. Only the next day after I sleep soundly for the first time in months would I realize that whoever gave it to me was damn brilliant to only give me a small amount. Any more and I would have been scouring Fugue Forest boiling up random leaves to get the high back. And I would have failed, because if there is any magic in this world those precious plants seeping it from their very fiber. And obtaining something that pure is something beyond the ability of my tainted hands.

Only I knew exactly who it had been, even if I was slow to accept it or admit it. Because I still was in denial that said mystic had been right when I was wrong about the weather, because as you know by now, I'm about as petulant as you can get when it comes to that sort of thing. But something this thing can't be denied or go without some sort of blessing in return.

The next day, getting dressed for work, the strings of my thoughts finally pulled together the entirety of what this meant, and it about knocked me to my knees. Someone who didn't know me had went through the trouble to help me. After I had been a right ass to them and made a childish idiot of myself in response to their warning. They didn't know anything about me other than the fact that I was unpleasant and rude... and he still consciously made the decision to take time out of his day, put this together and give it to the man who snarked at him outside of a bar at eleven o'clock at night. I literally couldn't wrap my head around it – at that time, I hadn't known _anything_ even remotely close to kindness like this. At least, nothing that I hadn't had the opportunity to shoot down before it helped me and I was thus indebted.

Of course, the hostile jackass that dominates in me managed to twist a kind and wonderful endeavor into something low and aggressive. "I don't know what he wants," I muttered hotly to myself through clenched teeth as I pulled my jacket tight about me, almost pulling loose a button with the force I was using. "but I guess the wizard's won this one." Debt frightens the very core of what I am, but if I owe something I will repay in whatever form I can.

I don't have much to give besides the blessing of a man cursed, but maybe my thanks would mean something to someone capable of this purity. Or this trickery, depending on what part of me was dominating at the moment.

Nothing to do but bate my breath and hope I have something to repay the wizard, whatever his motives may be.

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_Sorry for the lack of interesting happenings^^ Next one is much more interesting to write, so I assume it'll be more fun to read._

**_Thanks to everyone who reads this~ I love you all3_**


	4. Chapter III

**Chapter III

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**

"Why."

I didn't say it like a question. It was more of a statement of thought.

"Why."

I felt the repetition pass my cracked lips, but the wizard's expression didn't change. There wasn't so much as a flicker of expression along the contours of that face, dark skin framed delicately with a silver braid. Mismatched eyes stared down at me as blasé as if the bastard had never seen me in his entire life, as dull and inexpressive as if he were watching rocks. The most reaction I achieved was the raising of one eyebrow, as if my words were the raving of a lunatic and he was my patient caretaker.

And honestly, not like you could blame him. I was standing right beneath the railing outside his house, looking upwards at his form leaning with arms crossed over the rails, staring down at me like a jaded parent watches a child do something stupid, but doesn't want to hurt their feelings by telling them so. I could feel the heat rise to my face as my embarrassment grew, hands curling into fists at my sides as the ember glow of the sun painted everything in various shades of orange and pink. Without giving a thought to it I turned my face to the side with an indignant sneer - it took me all damn day to track him down, and I wasn't going to let a sunset turn me back now.

I had started out by coming to his house I the morning, early. No one there, or if he was there he had been ignoring me. Alright, so I walked around town for an hour and came back. Still no answer at the door. I walked back to Flute Fields, stopping at my house to grab a thicker jacket since the temperature seemed to be dropping against and it looked as if it might have started raining. So then I headed to Fugue forest, knowing full well I wouldn't be able to find him if he was there but looking around anyway for lack of anything better to do. People have told me of the witch who lived there, but believe me when I say I had no use for her whatsoever.

When I get determined my mind is a one-way interstate, hyperfocused on one particular thing until I manage to either achieve it or fall flat on my face again and again until the shattered remnants of any hope I had pierce me until I finally give up. My being motivated towards anything's rare in and of itself, so luckily that obsessive searching/rampaging isn't exactly a common occurrence. Still, I felt bad for ignoring everyone who had the heart to say hello to me as I stomped past them.

"Are you going to stand there sneering at the ocean all night, or are you going to tell me something?"

His voice took my surprise, and I flinched visibly, sending another wave of heat to my face as I snapped my head back to face him. He still wore the exact same expression he had been just moments ago. And for a moment I had to convince myself that he had really said anything at all.

"Tell you something? I've been sitting here asking you 'why' for about ten goddamn minutes now." I snapped, straightening my posture and crossing my arms, my hip shifting to the side as it always does when I form this stance. Kathy once made a point of letting me know that I look like a bastard cross between a pissed-off flamer and a sassy black woman when I do that... but of course I wasn't paying attention.

There was an audible sigh, and the wizard propped up his face with a hand. "No, you've been standing there glaring at me as if I just burned down an orphanage, occasionally throwing a pronoun at me like I'm suppose to understand what you mean. If you're going to elaborate then please do, otherwise just let me stand here in peace."

"Are you _serious_?" I blurted. I was so ticked that my eyes were narrowed almost to the point of not being able to see anything. Before I knew it I'd projected myself up the stairs and was about a foot away from the wizard's face, simply seething. "Really? What could I possibly mean? I know it was you. I don't know if you think you're being clever or humble or what, but I know it was you, so cut the shit alright?"

Now he just looked genuinely confused – an expression that looked downright alien upon his face. He never once started or flinched when I practically flung myself up the steps, but he seemed genuinely concerned at what I said. A strange wave passed through me, knowing something I said had that effect on someone. It was weird. Then the flash of recognition passed his face and he breathed outward heavily, closing his eyes. "Oh, the tea," he said slowly, opening his eyes again and focusing them on me. I know it sounds strange, but something about his eyes looking at me just made me feel... as if I was under a microscope, if that makes any sense. Those peculiar irises just seemed to soak in the fading sunlight and project it out back at me. I was just about to continue when he spoke again. "I warned you that you would get sick, and you didn't listen. I felt bad for not pressing the matter so I sent you some medicine. To think one would be grateful." The words themselves spoke of an implied sarcasm that made me twitch, but his tone was perfectly calm and collected.

"Look. I'm not stupid." I leaned my hip back against the railing, resuming my arms-crossed posture that Kathy has so much fun scrutinizing. "No one just gives me stuff for no reason. No one just helps out just because they can. You want something, and I'm going to find out what it is. My only question is why you won't own up to it."

"I already told you I gave you the tea."

"That's not what I meant," I said through clenched teeth, my irritation mounting. "And you know it, _wizard_. Look, I don't like debt. And that's what you just threw me into. Just tell me what you want and I'll do it." I instantly felt bad for the tone I was taking, but I had honestly no idea what I had that he could conceivable wish to gain from me, and that was bothering me even more.

With a roll of his eyes and a quick wave of the hand he brushed me off, looking in the other direction as if he didn't even want to deal with looking at me. "I just felt bad. Now go home and get some sleep. The last thing you need is to get sick again."

"No! That's not going to happen until I get some answe-"

You ever have something happen to you so fast and so unexpected, that afterwards you have to convince yourself it even happened at all? I hadn't even managed to get the word out of my mouth when I felt the small of my back slam against the railing, a blurred whirlwind of silver, purple and tan mixed with dots of light from the shock danced before my eyes. My body went completely rigid. When the images finally focused themselves and I managed to start breathing again, my back was leaned over the railing almost painfully far, leaning over me the shockingly powerful (and apparently ridiculously swift) form the the wizard, his eyes no more than four inches from my own. I didn't make any fraction of movement whatsoever, the warmth and pressure of his body against mine causing me to freeze.

His hands were on either side of me on the railing, legs pressed up against mine in an obvious attempt to keep me from falling over the edge. Strangely enough I wasn't the least concerned with that at the moment. I didn't even know what I was thinking.

The whispered words slid into my ear with the haltering ease of honey sliding off the ladle, spoken with an absoluteness that stuck them to my brain and never let them slide off. "Sometimes, when people go out of their way to help, it's because they don't want to see you miserable. Sometimes, it's because they happen to be fond of you." Smouldering eyes were attempting to pierce straight into mine all the while, but I turned my head to avoid them. My body was now lax and limp. I gave up. Exhaling sharply, he quickly moved his head and spoke directly into my ear next: "Don't assume I'm attempting to get anything out of you by any means of blackmail or coercion. If I ever get anything out of you, it will come as a gift." He stood straight after that, pulling me upward like a limp ragdoll into a standing position, while somehow managing to ease into gentility as he did so. I finally ventured to look up at him, and the normally nonchalant eyes of his were burning. I'd pissed him off, and on a level perhaps deeper than I had expected.

My hair was in an absolute disarray, in my face, probably mussed up all over my head. And my eyes were wide open in a state of shock. The sheer speed and absoluteness of his transformation from nonchalant to... what he was now, it literally knocked me off my feet. I didn't know what to say or do, so I stay standing there with my back against the rail and eyes facing away from the wizard's face.

I felt a hand gently take ahold of my upper neck and chin, and my head was forced to turn and look him in the face. It was hard and expressionless as usual, but the eyes were now alive and burning as they were before. "Listen, Violet Eyes," he said, somehow managing to melt away my rising anxiety that something bad was going to happen. I felt myself growing calmer, but still on edge. "If you truly want me to leave you alone say the word. And I won't bother with you anymore."

Why didn't I believe that?

His face neared mine. "Are you going to answer, mm?"

"I- I..." My damn tongue wouldn't move. My words just kept flip-flopping around in my mouth like a fish out of water, dying before they every passed my lips. I felt the warmth of his breath on my face, the proximity having an effect on me that made me both calm and anxious at once. I was reminded of when you take a heat and put it outside in winter – how the ice about it melts, only to re-freeze once it's farther enough away. "What do you want from me?"

The wizard looked at me like I just said what was perhaps the most idiotic thing he had ever heard. He just stared at me blankly, his face a mixture of self doubt and disbelief. Finally, with a dramatic roll of those odd-eyes and a slight rearing of his head, the hand about my chin and throat pulled me closer until our foreheads were touching, his eyes closed and our noses just barely grazing. My eyes, however, were wide open and my heart was thudding like a piston, so hard it felt like it was about to leap out of my chest. Surprisingly, I wasn't that shocked at all when I felt the warmness of his lips grazed down my nose and rest on my own, but it was the mystical tingling that came with it that surprised me. It felt almost electric, traveling through the nerves of my body like wheels on a winding road, passing straight down from the top of my head to my toes.

The muscle memories of past experiences bent my neck backwards, back arching slightly and body altogether wrapping itself around the white-haired wizard in front of my. My lips seeked more but his remained almost stone-still in their place, barely moving at all before he pulled his head back, hands somehow having slid from their position on my face and perched on my hips, his warmth seemingly sucking itself out of my face and leaving me a cold and shaking mess, eyes still wide and body screaming in confusion.

No, I am no stranger to physical love. Whether it be a recreation among two people delighting in their primal ecstasies, or a tool to get myself out a bad situation it's been a common factor in the equation of my life, showing up to harm or help indiscriminately. I didn't know whether to pull him closer or shove him away, hope for more or knock him upside the head and run for it. So I did what I always do – I stood still, and I waited for him to make another move.

But he didn't. At least not at first.

"You interest me, you know that?" he said, face and eyes once again perfectly stoic. Then I realized that my right leg was still wrapped about his left, and straightened it out. My face felt as if it was on fire, like all the blood in my body was flushing to my cheeks just to make me look like an ass. Of course, him pressing me up closer to the rail again didn't help my situation, or another one that seemed to be forming the longer this went on. "You interest me on levels that are hard to find – I want to figure you out. Figure out what makes that spiteful head of yours tick in a way that drives me crazy," He tapped gently on my cranium with an extended index finger almost playfully, but I knew he was speaking in all seriousness. It was then that I saw the first vague flicker of a smile play across his lips before it faded away altogether. "Forgive me for my rashness, but if I tried to court you you would've beaten me back with a broom."

How... well, yeah, I probably would have. The concept of being sought after instead of being grabbed and quickly hurdling into someone's life was so foreign to me I probably would have. But how did he know that?

"No, I can't read minds," he said, an answer to my inward question. "But I am good at reading people. I'm assuming that's what you were wondering anyway."

I had no idea what to do. I'd never been in a situation even remotely like this before – so I did the first thing that came to my mind. I kissed him back. My lips closed upon his, but his didn't move. I pulled back and looked up at him confused, slightly hurt.

"You don't have to do that, you know."

What he said was probably the simplest thing ever, but I felt an avalanche melting within my chest, frozen bits of fear and anxiety that softened and slid off my heart, leaving me feeling oddly cold and shaky. I knew exactly what he was referring too. Just how far could he read into my eyes, to know that on some subconscious level that's what I expected from the get-go? That what he wanted was for me to shrug off my clothes.

"Go home. Go get some sleep, and if you want, I'd be honored to get to know you better. Believe it or not you're one hell of a character study, Mr. Chase," he stated, using my name for the first time. He was speaking to me as if I were some scientific specimen, some creature in the wild he was interested in studying. But I didn't notice that then, and I didn't for a long time.


	5. Chapter IV

**Chapter IV**

* * *

Days dragged on like months. I had no idea which move to make, if any, so I just went back to my daily routine.

Work. Home. Sleep. Every day went back to the same monotonous blend. It was bland, but things were comfortably predictable again, and that was enough for me... except that's a total lie. No matter what I did my mind kept flip-flopping over to that evening at dusk I stormed over to the wizard's house and confronted him, the subsequent events swirling together in a crazy mismash of emotions that are hard to piece together even now.

He wanted to see me again, that's one thing that was certain. And I had no idea what to do about it. I felt strangely unfulfilled at the thought of doing nothing, but my stomach seized up with just the idea of facing him again.

I didn't even _know_ this man. I had barely heard of him up until recently. But the thought of seeing those strange eyes again fascinated me – though I hadn't made the comparison this early on, I had taken my first hit, and I was already addicted.

A new beat thrummed through me the morning I woke up and decided that, yeah, I'd see him again. When I woke up I went through the same routine I did every morning, but how I went about it was different. It's hard for me to explain, honestly. My shower was hotter and longer than normal; and believe me, I like them prolonged and scalding. I actually blow-dried my hair for the first time in what seems like forever, not satisfied with my usual technique of pinning the unruly parts back with bobby pins. And I didn't just brush it like normal, but combed it. Which, for my ungodly thick tangle of a mane, is a chore in and of its own. And when I ended up in front of the mirror God help me I was there for forever, tweezing the peace fuzz between my eyebrows, fixing my hair just so, fretting over my teeth until they shone like a damned light. I even gave myself an extra spray-down of cologne and considered running a razor over the beard I couldn't grow. Just about the only body part I didn't stress over were my nails, which I already had this OCD complex of keeping clean.

I've never owned nice clothes. Well, that's if you don't count the worn old children's suit they made me wear to church on Sundays at the orphanage – which I'm sure you don't. Anyway, needless to say I was stuck with my normal everyday clothing, but it didn't bother me too much. An extra dash of cologne and some straightening up and I was ready to go.

Willing myself to walk out the door was the hardest part, really. I stood there in the kitchen, burning away twenty minutes and three cigarettes before I finally left the house and headed to town. It was actually a spectacular day, a stark contrast to the dark, gloomy weather we'd been having the past couple weeks. It genuinely felt like spring rather than a hollow shell of what it should be. When I got to town I even scented the warm, salty aroma that wafts in from the sea whenever the winter finally begins to melt away for real. Normally I prefer the chilly weather that sends most people bundling back inside. But today the warm change seemed to resonate perfectly with the strange hum I had been feeling since the moment I woke up.

Oddly confident as I scaled the steps up to his door, I rapped five times on it without hesitation and took a couple steps back where I waited, eyes wide and a smile uncharacteristically having snuck its way across my lips. And I waited... and waited. I slowly grew more and more crestfallen, my brow furrowing into a sneer as I stood back against that same rail, waiting for the door to open. Of a sudden I jarred forward and was about to pound on the door again when it opened, the knuckles of my fist scraping painfully against the receding wood. I cursed beneath my breath, drawing the hand up and putting the abused knuckle to my mouth, looking at the door with a fury that implied it had just jumped out and attacked me.

After a few long moments of forgetting where I was and what I was doing, I suddenly remember and jumped back with a jolt. All the confidence that had emanated from me just minutes ago dissipated when I was actually face-to-face with him again. The stone-hard edges of his face intimidated me in ways that are hard to explain. And they still do, in their own way.

"I, ah... you did want...?" I had finished the sentence in my mind, but apparently not out loud because he did so for me.

"To see you again?" That same voice, hard and emotionless. The intense, if somewhat frightening passion I'd seen the other day when he rushed me was still gone. "Yes, I requested as much. Though honestly I expected it to take much longer for you to come here."

For whatever reason, that comment put me off a bit. But I couldn't put my finger on why, so I just did what I normally do and ignored the feeling, at least for now. But I found myself stumped nonetheless – why did I come back? I had no freakin idea what to say next. Now that I actually got here I felt completely without a lead or even a clue.

He retreated back into his house before I had time to piece together anything else to say. I stood dumbstruck by the entrance, mouth agape, staring into the dark interior like there was some hope I could see inside. I strained my eyes, but it wasn't any use. It's like light from outside was incapable of piercing it – the more I was around him the more stock I was beginning to put in these 'wizard' rumors. Then quick as he had gone he was back, violet cloak fastened at his collar and two chains worn about his neck that I hadn't noticed before. He did dress eccentrically, but I had to admit that it suited him somehow. The wizard stepped outside, the door shutting behind him without his putting a finger on it. He fixed the hem of his collar, eyes drifting to the side to look at me. "Where are we going?"

It's shocking how words so mechanically spoken could invoke such a response in me. I gushed out my words quickly, like I'd been holding back a dam that finally decided to break. "I dunno, I had no I idea I just figured you would have a place picked out or that you'd change your mind or something I mean I really didn't put any though into it at –" He held up his left index finger to shush me.

"Slow down. It's fine. We can just go walking."

And that just about wraps up our conversation for the next half hour. Without another word he motioned for me to lead the way, and we just... started walking. It was so _strange_, just having him walk beside me without any conversation. We were well out of town by the time either one of us spoke our next word.

"Do I scare you?" He stopped in his tracks, and I immediately stopped as well, as if I somehow knew he was going to do it. We were well down the road out of town, all you could see from either direction being the beaten dirt path and the occasional section of fence that lined it. I wasn't really surprised by the inquiry. But honestly, what could I say to it?

"A little intimidated maybe. You ain't exactly the warmest person alive." Finally I'd achieved ground where I was somewhat comfortable to speak.

"And you are?"

"Well. I never said I was, just that you weren't."

He nodded, and kept on walking. I followed. We kept on going until we got to Flute Fields. I asked if he'd like to come inside, but he declined, saying he'd rather not. I didn't know how to take that so I didn't say anything. The dusk started creeping up on us again, just as we scaled one of the hills and he took a seat on the crest of it, looking up at me until I did the same. Of a sudden, that exhilarating feeling I'd had this morning came back._ 'What the hell is going on. I didn't go through all this to sit here awkwardly all night.' _

"So what's the deal?"

He cocked an eyebrow at me, that tired parent look returning to his face. He didn't say anything but his expression spoke for him.

"You tell me you'd like to know me... or something like that. And you're not even talking. What the hell."

"You do know that it's not necessary to have in-depth discussions with someone to get to know them, right? I can tell just as much about you from the way you sidestep everything and wait for me to grab you by the arm and jerk you into something as if you'd just given me your life story."

"What are you-"

"Don't act like you don't know what I mean." All I could do was stare dumbfounded. "Why do you think I was so adamant that you pick what we do? I had a feeling you'd assume I'd make all the decisions. So I didn't and I waited for your reaction. It was what I'd expected."

There's no way to explain the anger that welled in me – and I don't even know why his words made me feel like that. Maybe because they were true, and I didn't want to know it. I don't know. But it pissed me off. My hand had snaked its way into my coat pocket and pulled out a smoke before you could blink. I lit it, took one long, aggravated drag and held in the smoke for what seemed like forever before blowing it out, somewhat calmed down. "Don't act like you know me already. I rule my life, not whoever happens to tickle my fancy." I looked away, not wanting the red splashed across my face to be seen. More nicotine before I was ready to spit out another sentence. "Just because I'm not making enough decisions, or whatever your beef is, doesn't mean I just let whoever jerk me around like a damned handbag. I'm just not... used to being in control."

Now how in the hell did he manage to leech that confession out of me? I'll probably never know. But immediately as it came out I was simply sick with embarrassment. I still refused to look at him when I felt those fingers on my neck and chin again as he gently tried to turn my head. But instinctively I jerked back, kicking up a clod of dirt in my violet scramble to get away from his hand. Realizing what I'd just done I blushed again. "Sorry. Just – god, don't do that okay? It freaks me out."

A flicker of knowing passed through his eyes and he nodded, looking the other direction for a brief moment before turning back to me and leaning in, brushing his lips against mine so briefly it could hardly be considered anything. He lay down then, arms crossed behind his head and leaving me sitting up and still confused as ever. His mannerisms were so foreign and unfamiliar to me, it sparked something that angered me in ways that were hard to imagine at that point. The sky was nearly black by now, the last rays of the sun quickly retreating, and the fire in me was driving me crazy. I wanted him. I wanted him because, on some level, I hated what he was doing. I didn't understand it, but it was there, and it drove me to roll over on him, arms holding myself up on either side of his head. I stared down into his eyes, blasé and unsurprised as ever. This somehow pissed me off even more.

"What's your _**deal**_?" My face was contorted, I could feel it, and I imagine to anyone other than him it would have been terrifying. I thought of how secretly – even secret to myself, on some level – I'd wanted someone to get me. But now that I was looking at someone who understood me without asking for my permission, without asking to be let in, it scared me. Scared the hell out of me. I could just see it in his eyes, everything I did he was just fitting together another piece in some puzzle.

"My deal? I told you what my deal was." That mechanical voice. No feeling, just factual information. "You interest me, Violet Eyes. I said I wanted to know you. And you came to me. You. Came. To me. Remember that." The last part, some warning snaked into his voice, emotional lubricant to the calculating machine he seemed otherwise. It was the crack in the ice that made me dive in.

I lowered myself down onto him and entered a zone I was familiar with, an area where I exercised at least some control. If he was to invade me, I'd show him what I could do.

Lips met this time with a violent clash, no more the light brushes that were his idea. My right hand became tangled in his hair, streams of silver stark against my skin in the twilight. It was so fucking soft, my god, I hadn't expected it. I made a fist, my other hand cupping the line of his jaw as legs wrapped tightly to the sides of his waist. I was into it. It wasn't until long moments later I realized he was laying completely still, my eyes opening to meet his which had never closed. He was completely still beneath me, the passion his voice had promised replaced once again by that stoic face.

"I told you that you didn't have to do that."

Dumbstruck again. Eyes wide, mouth slightly agape as I soaked it in. Then the anger returned. "What makes you think I'm doing this because I think it's what _you_ want? What if it's what I want?" My words came out more snarl than I had intended, but I didn't really care. I was confused, and that maddened me. The wizard's hands twitched at my sides, even rising up to hold me at the waist... but he was restraining himself.

One green, one golden eye met my question. No words accompanied them, but I got the message.

"You think I'm a whore, don't you?"

"Nobody said that." There! The spark returned. I didn't particularly want the anger seeping into his voice, but it was better than the android. He took hold of my face. "I think you're a victim. I could tell just by looking at you out in front of the bar."

"..what?"

He literally shrugged. "Some people just have the complex beaten into them. Some people are born that way, but, you don't seem like that to me."

I was gently pushed to a sitting position and the wizard stood, brushing out his coat and offering me a hand. I took it. He pulled me close, our cheeks brushing, as he spoke into my ear, "My name's Gale, by the way. Stop by again, alright?" A new emotion had snuck it's way into his voice, one I hadn't heard in him before. I can't place it exactly. But it was warm. Soft. It made me think of all the times I'd been in similar proximity to a man interested in me and wanted to hear that exact tone.

I did.

* * *

**AN;** _Sorry for how slow recent chapters have been, heh. I usually just end the chapter when I feel it's right, even if it's before I get to anything substantial. Flow's important to me like that^^_


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